Once again, we have the exciting opportunity to shine the literary spotlight on a lovely, little piece of honorable mention flash from our 2017 Spider’s Web Flash Fiction Prize. This one, by Amanda J. Bermudez, simultaneously plops us down into the hearts of Los Angeles and Marjorie/Eleanor/Elizabeth/Skye. Disenchantment is a quirky, chance opportunity to walk three-hundred words in the shoes of an interesting actress/survivor.

Without further delay, read on and enjoy!

Disenchantmentby Amanda J. Bermudez

Los Angeles is a city of barbarians waiting at windows, breath held for the crunch of glass on metal. The logic of collision. Silence and appetite.

From the roof of the Soho House, she glares down onto the sunny 45-degree angle where Phyllis Street meets Sunset, funneling the world’s finest motorcars toward the strip like a trap. She thinks of the valet, an underground athlete, collecting keys like lottery tickets. The owners vanishing into the Bermuda Triangle of Sunset/Phyllis/Cory Avenue, taking the elevator up up up, checking in constantly, rigorously documenting themselves,eager to not disappear.

She flicks her head quickly to the side, a youthful, bemused attempt to displace her sunglasses in one fluid motion. She is unsuccessful. Someone is, of course, amused by this gesture. Someone always is.

– Thomas.

– Marjorie.

She is of course not Marjorie. Marjorie is unbearable, has a life of eight hours. She is gratingly witty, and just a soft palate adjustment away from a 1930’s London stage accent.

– Are you meeting someone?

– Right this very minute. Aren’t you?

Marjorie/Elizabeth/Eleanor/Skye surveys the universe through peripheral vision, each person a private little infinity. Each doing the same thing, checking to see who’s famous, theatrically not caring.

Imagination, she understands, is electric. The theory of ships passing in the night, of alternate realities, of just missing one another. Of chemistry. Collision. Of saying yes always meaning saying no to a thousand somethings (or someones) else.

Marjorie/etc. drinks affection like water. She knows that you can be all things to all people, but only one at a time.

And that, in the right hands, Los Angeles will crack open your chest into a million fucking little pieces.

*****

Amanda J. Bermudez is a writer and director based in Los Angeles, California. Her work has been featured at the International Festival of Arts & Ideas, the National Winter Playwrights Retreat, and the Yale Center for British Art. She is a National Merit Scholar, recipient of the Jameson Prize, a Writer’s Digest National Award Winner, nominee for the Spotlight Culture & Heritage Award, and winner of the 2017 Cinequest Film Festival screenwriting award.

Stay tuned to our website or signup on our mailing list for news about 2018 Spider’s Web Flash Fiction Prize submissions. We still have one more honorable mention piece to share with you, via this blog series, and the winning story, Sherry Baby by Leslie Archibald, will be printed, as a bonus, in our upcoming 2018 release of Andromache by Kate Spitzmiller. Stay tuned for the exciting news about all of that too!